


Against The Mirror

by deductionz



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Boyfriends, John Plays Rugby, M/M, Public Sex, Rimming, Teenlock, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:50:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3797371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deductionz/pseuds/deductionz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a lovely bum, especially in his tights, and John can't get enough of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Against The Mirror

The pair always walked hand-in-hand on the way to their individual practices- Sherlock headed for ballet and John to the pitch where his rugby team spent many an afternoon. That day was chilly, so the slender pale boy was decked out in his boyfriend’s varsity jacket, duffle bag with his spare clothes and shoes in it slung over his shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re not cold?” Sherlock asked with furrowed brow, squeezing John’s hand. His breath puffed up around him in soft gray clouds, and they stopped at the steps of his dance studio where they’d have to part ways.

“I’m going to be running around outside in the freezing for the next two hours, I don’t think the walk there will make much of a difference,” John chuckled, rubbing Sherlock’s cold digits. The dancer just rolled his eyes and pecked John’s lips.

“I’ll see you after practice, I’ll be by to pick you up,” John winked before spinning on his heels and taking off towards the field in the rear of their school’s campus.

Sherlock panted slightly as he spun on his pointed toes again and again; legs strong and arms curved at his front. His dark curs were dampened and plastered to his forehead with a shimmer of sweat, an his tank top clung to his slender yet toned frame. Class had long since ended, but he always took the extra time between then and when John came for him to extend his practices.

The dreary afternoon had been broken by sunlight fighting through the clouds, and the light filtered through the tall windows of the nearly silent studio. The music radiating from Sherlock's mind palace was loud and clear, pushing the young man to complete the choreography. He didn’t stop when he heard the faint sound of the studio door opening and closing, followed by the soft patter of a very familiar gait entering the room.

“Wow,” John breathed, setting his bag of dirty practice clothes down on the floor. Sherlock caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye, leg muscles beginning to burn from the repeated routine. The music playing in his head faded out, and his arms dropped to his sides.

“No matter how many times I see you dance, you always take my breath away,” John grinned, the orangey light in the room making his flushed cheeks practically glow. He was slowly approaching Sherlock in the center of the floor.

“I’m a bit partial to how you look after rugby as well. Ruffled, mud clinging to you, skin flushed and damp,” Sherlock purred, his voice gravely.

“And that arse, /God/, that arse of yours in those tights deserves worship,” the blonde boy said with a seductive smile, arms finding their way around Sherlock’s waist. His warm hands ran over the swells of Sherlock’s arse, kneading the plump flesh there.

“Are we alone?” He asked huskily, lips already on the dancer’s sweat dampened collarbone, sucking a red mark there. Sherlock whimpered desperately and nodded in response.

“Against the mirror, please. I want to be able to see,” Sherlock asked breathlessly, his cock quite impressively filling out the crotch of his tights, perfectly outlined in the dark fabric. John did as he requested, dragging him by the hand to bar connected to said mirrors, bending Sherlock over it and thumbing the waistband of his tights. Tucking his fingers beneath the hem, he pulled them down to his mid-thighs, exposing his milky skin to John’s ravenous eyes.

“I don’t know how I manage to keep my hands off of you,” John murmured, spreading Sherlock’s arse with both hands, kissing the base of his spine before connecting his lips to the dancer’s puckering hole; making him gasp and squirm.

“Please. Oh, /please/,” Sherlock begged, teeth gnawing on his lower lip to hold back a squeal. John didn’t need any further instruction, his tongue flicking from between his lips to press flat against Sherlock’s entrance, slicking it up. Lapping it over the tight ring of muscle, John willed it to open for him; tongue slipping inside.

Sherlock was a writing mess beneath John’s touch, his knees already beginning to feel weak as he leaned heavily on the bar. His breath fogged up the mirror as he panted softly against it, the occasional moaning whimper escaping from his mouth. John was tonguing deep into him, swirling the strong muscle in delicious circles. Once he deemed Sherlock suitably stretched and slicked, John pulled away and stood up straight; eliciting a huff of complaint from the dancer.

Tugging his painfully hard cock from his trousers, John ran his length along the soaking crack of Sherlock’s arse; wetting the shaft. Pressing the blunt head to Sherlock’s entrance, John grasped at Sherlock’s hips and smirked at his reflection in the mirror. Sherlock’ knuckles grew whiter as he tightly grasped the ballet bar, mouth falling open as John slowly pushed inside him.

A long chorus of breathy moans and groans filled the studio mingling with the sound of skin connecting with skin. The dancer watched their erotic reflections in the mirror, the slow burn of pleasure in his belly beginning to rush through the rest of his body.

“John, I-I… Fuck, I’m going to cum,” Sherlock whimpered, his cock hanging between his legs, his precum dripping onto the wooden floor. John grunted from behind him and the sound of Sherlock so desperate for release gave him a renewal of energy; the pace of his hips picking up and the angle changing, sending his length to come into contact with Sherlock’s prostate with each thrust.

That was all that was needed to send Sherlock over the edge, his legs giving out as he came. John wrapped his arms around his waist to keep him from falling to his knees, Sherlock’s cum splattering against the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The dancer cried out loudly and he watched his reflection as the waves of pleasure ripped through his body, making his skin flush a deep pink and rivulets of sweat roll down and over his tensed muscles.

Meanwhile, John’s thrusting had become erratic and he buried his cock as deep inside Sherlock as it could go, releasing his warm seed inside of him as he chanted the dancer’s name. Sherlock let his head fall forward once the aftershocks had subsided, his forehead resting on the bar as he tried to reclaim his breath.

Slowly pulling out, John couldn’t help but admire Sherlock’s stretched hole and the slight trickle of his release that escaped.

“Come on, we better leave before the next class finds us this way,” John chuckled, helping Sherlock stand up straight and dash out of the studio hand-in-hand just as they had arrived.


End file.
